


In which Dale Cooper tries to be friendly and has regrets

by redactredact



Series: There Were Always Two [3]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, M/M, My Life My Tapes, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:57:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redactredact/pseuds/redactredact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's well past midnight when they close up shop, locking the doors of the offices they've borrowed for the duration of the case. The coffee pot's empty and the bodies are on ice (three of them, all female, between the ages of sixteen and thirty) but the light's still on in the morgue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Dale Cooper tries to be friendly and has regrets

It's well past midnight when they close up shop, locking the doors of the offices they've borrowed for the duration of the case. The coffee pot's empty and the bodies are on ice (three of them, all female, between the ages of sixteen and thirty) but the light's still on in the morgue.

"Come with us," Dale finds himself saying, because nobody else is brave or stupid enough to try. The withering look he gets in return boils his blood all over again.

What is this guy's  _problem?_

"It's just down the block. Everyone's going."

"Everyone?" he asks, yet another condescending speech compressed into three syllables. It's uncanny.

"Come with us," Dale repeats. "It's been a difficult day. The least you can do is pretend you're part of this team."

Albert Rosenfield rolls his eyes and sets his notebook down.

"It's your funeral," he replies.

By 3 AM, Dale is starting to wonder if he was right.

* * *

Dale has only known him for a matter of days—been in his presence for mere hours—but he's sure this is a bad sign. Something's wrong. Really wrong. Albert Rosenfield is many things, but quiet isn't one of them.

 _Is this his first homicide too?_ Dale wonders, sipping politely from his beer. The rest of the green kids working the case are a few drinks in already, past their sadness and distress and into that dark place where the best way to cope seems to be overcompensatory exuberance and yelling that drives their waitress up the wall.

But Albert is quiet.

He's lost count of how many lowballs he's been through, but his expression hasn't changed since he finished the first and grew cold behind the eyes. It's not like him. Albert's angry, at everything and everyone, and that anger burns hot and fast—but now his distant stare is ice.

"You know," Albert says—the first words he's said to Dale since they left the field office that evening. At least, Dale  _thinks_ Albert is talking to him. "There's something about the hand."

He means the girl with the silver band on her finger. All three graves were fresh, but hers was freshest, with her hand extending out.

Dale stays quiet.

"He left her reaching out to us. That's no accident."

"Albert?" Dale asks, his voice almost a whisper.

"He wanted them to be found." He leans forward in his seat, refocusing to meet Dale's eyes. "He wanted us to see them."

_Like ice._

"That's what they all want," he says, and Dale isn't sure if this is a conversation or if he just happens to be sitting between Albert's words and the world. "Everyone wants to be  _seen_."

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Things you said when you were drunk' from [this list](http://lilloury.tumblr.com/post/110395333021/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a). Part of a collaborative project with @laughingpineapple. (Cross-posted from tumblr.)


End file.
